Crossfire
by Melora Maxwell
Summary: *Companion piece to Presents and Creations* The creation of Crossfire: gun-former, offspring of Shockwave, and a little mech who by all rights, should never have existed...
1. Part 1

A/N: Back-story time! This is a companion fic to Presents and this first chapter also ties in with Creations. I'd recommend you give both of those fics a look before reading this, but it's not vital!

* * *

Disclaimer: Nightraider, Dreadnought and Crossfire are mine. Don't steal. Everything else is the property of TomyTakara and Hasbro. Steal away.

Warnings: Some fairly bleak stuff, a bit of gore and a small smattering of angst.

* * *

**Crossfire: Part 1**

* * *

**Cybertron, City State of Iacon...**

* * *

Little if any natural light penetrated this deeply into the research labs of the Iacon Science Academy. Shadows gathered and grew as Cybertron's sun dipped below the shimmering horizon of the metal planet, the weak solar rays catching the spires of the Towers and making the city state shimmer like crystal.

The shadows had long since stretched across Shockwave's laboratory, hidden within the depths of the building. Ignoring the grinding sensation within his fuel-tanks, the gun-former's single optic patiently scanned the streams of mathematical equations and geo-political readouts as he dictated his findings into the Academy's central computer core.

"...There have been few, if any, recorded deaths caused by old age in the past 1,000 vorns. Instead, the numbers of deaths caused via civil unrest, poverty, famine and disease continue to rise, while the energon surplus continues to fall..."

He had taken full advantage of the rare peace within the labs to work on his latest thesis, particularly since Soundwave was on medical leave and had thankfully taken the five Pit-spawned demons he termed his creations with him. Barely two orns later, CMO Nightraider had taken a deca-cycle's secondment to the Academy Medical Centre, confirming his prediction that the aforementioned Pit-spawned demons were about to gain a new sibling.

But that was of little interest to him at the present time. Of greater interest, and growing concern to him, were the results of his latest projections of the energy crisis threatening Cybertron.

"...Thus it would be logical to conclude that the increasing demands of a near-immortal society will place an unnatural burden on the planet's already dwindling energon reserves. To this end, I have prepared a preliminary analysis into sourcing raw energon offworld, code-named Re--"

His comm. beeped loudly, quickly derailing his train of thought. Any flicker of negative emotion was curtailed as he registered the ident details of the caller, and the encoding.

_CMO Nightraider: emergency communication channel._

His optic widened. Tapping the acceptance key, he rose from his workstation and stared at the vidscreen as it fizzed and crackled before reforming to the shape of a black and red femme jet, faceplates rigid with fear and her optics pale.

"Shockwave, drop whatever you're doing and get over to the Medical Centre _now_!"

The gun-former quickly saved and locked his preliminary notes within a separate drive, and started to search for his repair kit, quickly guessing he wasn't about to get a choice in refusing whatever it was Nightraider needed him for.

"What services am I required to provide?"

The femme's faceplates grew even more fixed. "Open spark surgery; one adult spark, one premature sparkling. It's trying to re-fuse with the parent spark. We're trying to induce spark separation without exacerbating the tank purges or causing neural cascade failure."

Shockwave paused in packing his subspace to stare at the screen, optic narrowed in disbelief. "You have performed this operation before without my aid. Hook, Scrapper, Ratchet, even Wheeljack would be more adept than myself at this kind of surgery. Why am I needed in _this_ instance?"

The utter terror on Nightraider's face wasn't lost on the gun-former.

"...It's _Soundwave_."

One name that told him everything.

Shockwave's empty fuel tanks clenched almost painfully at the quaver in the femme's voice.

"...Give me two joors. Get him prepped for surgery, and have the protoforms frame ready."

* * *

The sight of the two sparks, joined together by flickering white tendrils of kinetic energy gave Shockwave a momentary pause as he stood under the sterile field, a tray of surgical instruments before him, and a kinetic stimulator to his left. Outside the field, a small squad of nurse-bots stood ready to take the sparkling through to intensive care, and to offer assistance where needed.

Such a tiny scrap of energy, not even half the size of his hand, and it was powerful enough to cause all of this pain and distress.

And Soundwave had not carried a sparkling to term just once, but five times before this.

All of that torment, for this? And at the risk of damaging his own spark every time he chemically induced it to split?

Surely a _sparkling _was not worth all of this distress. And yet, he willingly suffered to create his offspring and to aid Nightraider in her symbiotic spark research.

* * *

Mercifully, the communications specialist was now unconscious through a combination of his own agony, repeated tank purges, and a dose of sedatives strong enough to down a Guardian robot. The femme CMO had chosen not to take any possible risks.

Particularly not with the one mech she cared for above all others.

He watched as she briefly rested the back of her hand against his face-mask, before she exhaled and grabbed two surgical retractors from the tray and pressed them against the edges of Soundwave's spark chamber.

The two sparks suddenly began to pulse almost frantically, the smaller spark drawing closer to its parent.

Nightraider pressed the retractors into place and ran a scanner over the chamber, her faceplates now fixed in concentration. "Prepare spark containment field."

She placed the scanner on the table and held out a hand. "Laser scalpel."

Shockwave passed her the tool and watched as the refined beam started to delicately sever the energy connections between the two sparks. A pair of spark forceps gently clamped around the tiny spark, encouraging it to separate from its parent.

Nightraider's faceplates relaxed enough for a tentative smile to appear. "There now...come on, little one..."

Another careful slice, and another connection was severed. The tiny spark seemed to move away from the blade of the scalpel, content to stay in the safe grip of the forceps...

* * *

"What the...?!"

A yell of horror cut off whatever the jet had been about to say. Rare concern taking over his circuitry, Shockwave pulled the femme's hand away from the incision and saw what had caused the scream.

The sparkling had somehow managed to pass through the scalpel beam, scarring its surface hideously, and was attempting once again to refuse with Soundwave's spark. But with the damage done to the sparkling, the elder spark was simultaneously absorbing and rejecting the sparkling's energy, its colours fading from a swirling blue-silver to a hideous red and orange.

The spark monitors began to emit a stilted, jarring tone instead of the regular soothing spark-pulse.

A spark overload.

Nightraider's amber optics were now white in fear. "No no no no NO!!"

On the table, Soundwave's body jolted from the erratic pulses, the edges of his armour turning a frightening grey.

She frantically inserted the forceps, desperately trying to get a grip onto the struggling spark before any more damage could be done. "He's going into sparkshock; I need 3000 volts NOW!"

Shockwave span around and began to set up the kinetic stimulator, his movements almost jerky as he listened to the CMO's orders. Outside the sterile field, three nurse-bots were frantically preparing the protoform's frame, while two others connected the electrical supply for the stimulator into the main power supply.

One paddle was placed against the top of the chamber, the other to the left-hand side. Over the sound of the growing electrical charge, Shockwave stared at Nightraider, and then down at the conjoined sparks.

"Close the chamber!"

"No time, I need to get in there as soon as he's stable!"

The gun-former realised what she meant, and also what could happen with the spark chamber left open. Without a closed chamber, the wave of kinetic and electrical energy that would be discharged would have nowhere to safely filter into the body, and thus would force its way through the largest available opening.

"CLEAR!"

The nurse-bots dropped instantly at the order. Shockwave grabbed the femme jet and pulled them both to the floor, a wave of yellow and silver energy just passing over the tips of his antennae. Underneath him, Nightraider tucked her head under his bulk, barely feeling his hands clutching her to his side.

The energy wave finally dispersed as soon as it hit the edge of the sterile field, the sound of the spark monitor falling back into a regular pulse.

Sparkshock averted.

Nightraider was the first to stand. Grabbing the forceps and scalpel, she forcibly pulled the sparkling away from its parent, and severed all of the energy connections in a single slash. The tiny spark flickered, and finally stabilised as a lavender forcefield surrounded its surface.

"Spark containment field engaged. Get me the protoform _now_."

The gun-former stood gracelessly, while two nurse-bots entered the shield and hauled a small trolley over to the side of the berth. Resting on it was a tiny silver-grey frame, its faceplates and body completely featureless, an empty spark chamber held open and waiting for its new resident. Nightraider turned, the weakly pulsing spark still restrained in the forceps, and placed it into the open chamber, drawing the seal of the chamber shut and clamping the access hatch shut.

* * *

Shockwave neatly took over as the femme jet wrapped the sparkling in a heat blanket and summoned the nurse-bots. He didn't bother listening to the frantic instructions issued; the damage done to Soundwave's spark was a more pressing concern.

One look at the chamber revealed the extent of the wounds. While the colours had reverted to silver-blue, jagged scars of grey marked the surface of the spark like lunar trenches, in patterns worryingly consistent with laser burns.

But he had seen Nightraider make the incisions. Not a wasted movement, and all done so as not to cause scarring or even pain to the sparks as they separated, apart from that last desperate slash, and even then the cut would not have produced scarring of this extent...

The realisation came to him as he studied the images of the surgery. The sparkling had passed _through_ the scalpel's beam, and the scarring from that alone should have killed it. But the tiny scrap that now resided inside a still-grey protoform had no marks of any kind.

Impossible.

And yet, when Soundwave's spark tried and failed to reabsorb its offspring...

The sparkshock.

Whatever had happened in that moment when he and Nightraider had dropped to the floor...

There had been cases of sparkshock during separation, and in all the cases, the parent had remained unharmed, but the sparkling had borne the brunt of the damage. Apart from a few rare occasions, the sparklings had either been killed or so severely damaged that termination was the only viable option. Those that survived were rendered sterile.

But Soundwave.

He was a unique case; the only Transformer ever to undergo spark symbiosis without a partner. His connection to his sparklings rendered him a combination of creator and brother to them, and no-one was in any doubt as to how deep those connections went, or how lovingly Soundwave cared for each of them.

He would be willing to die for each and all of them.

Did that creed extend to his spark?

Had his spark somehow absorbed the damage done to the sparkling, and in turn, renewed it? At the near cost of his life, and rendering himself sterile?

Impossible. And yet...

Shockwave shook his head. There was little use in theorising now.

He picked up the laser scalpel and began the long stint of repairs.

* * *

He did not listen to Nightraider's explanation of the surgery to Soundwave's creations, but he was close enough to witness their reactions. The two cyber hawks leaned against each other, Buzzsaw's optics wide and unfocused, while Laserbeak had buried her head in her brother's chest and was now weeping silently.

Rumble and Frenzy were truly silent for the first time in their lives, gripping tightly onto each other's hands as they listened in dread. The red twin was the first to bow his head and cry, his cobalt brother wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close as his own tears started to fall.

Ravage was focused on the femme jet's words, his black and silver frame trembling and yet still sitting proudly upright, trying so hard to be the strong one for the sake of his siblings. That pride didn't stop him from accepting a gentle stroke from Nightraider.

The CMO stood up and offered a few more words, then quietly turned and headed towards Shockwave. He passed the exhausted jet a cube of mid-grade as they made their way to the recovery ward.

Nightraider slugged her cube back in one gulp, ignoring her colleague's look of askance, and shook her head. "There are some parts of this job that I utterly hate. Having to tell a group of terrified younglings that their creator nearly died and their little brother's only just hanging on is one of them."

"Then why stay a medic? You could return to the Science Academy; your knowledge is greatly missed."

Nightraider sighed. "I'd miss it too much. And besides...Soundwave trusts me."

"You do all of this for a mech who shows so little emotion to any beings other than his creations."

The femme snorted in disgust. "Speaks the mech who disengaged his emotional programming as soon as he reached his majority."

* * *

Soundwave was still unconscious as they entered the recovery ward. The external damage had been cleared up by the nurse-bots; Shockwave had done the best he could for the injuries to the mech's spark.

He could see how little the femme looked forward to telling the navy mech of both his own and his creation's status.

One purple hand rested against a red and black arm. "If you...do not feel capable of doing so, I can tell him--"

Nightraider wrenched her arm away from him and glared at him. "No, you will fragging well _not_. I don't know how he's going to react to this; damage to his own frame is one thing, but to his creations...I can't even give him some false hope about another sparkling to comfort him, since all of us know that it's too dangerous to try again!"

"He is a mech who respects honesty. He will not think less of you for that. Tell him truthfully about what has happened, and let him know what might happen if the sparkling even survives the orn."

Nightraider blew a gust of air sharply through her vents. "I know, I know you're right...but how am I supposed to tell him that when I can't even tell him how I--"

Something caught her attention. Her gaze sharpened as she stared at the prone mech. "He moved!"

Shockwave, if he could, would have rolled his optic. He settled with an attempt at pedantry instead. "You are delusional from exhaustion, Nightraider. He cannot be conscious after the dose of sedatives he received."

The CMO shot another glare at him. "I know my patient, Shockwave."

She returned her attention to the navy mech. "Soundwave? Can you hear me? Just nod if you can hear me."

Soundwave managed to obey despite the obvious pain coursing through his circuits. Nightraider helped to lift him and settle him against the head of the berth, surreptitiously squeezing his arms before she let him go.

"Status?"

Nightraider's exhausted expression grew darker as she stared at him.

"There were...complications. The spark divided earlier than we had anticipated, and then refused to separate from yours; why, we don't know, but we nearly lost you both. You were losing control, the sparkling was fading...we had to intervene. Hence why I summoned Shockwave."

The scientist spared a glance at his purple colleague, calmly wiping his hands on a cleaning rag, his single optic unreadable as always as he took over from the black and red jet.

"The intervention required surgery on a complex scale. Both you and your creation survived, but the damage to your own spark has now rendered you incapable of spark-bearing. Attempting to spawn another spark will take you permanently offline."

Soundwave's hands clenched into fists as he fixed his optics on his berth.

"Sparkling: status?"

Emotion was clearly audible in the femme's voice as she laid a hand on his shoulder.

_"...Oh Primus, this never gets any easier_...it's not good."

The navy mech dragged his optics away from staring at his berth to look at the CMO.

"Define: not good."

Nightraider closed her optics. "It's a premature mech. **Severely** premature. We managed to get him to take to a frame, but he's unstable. Believe me, we're doing all we can, but the prognosis...Soundwave, you have to be prepared to let him rejoin the Matrix if his status doesn't improve."

"Situation: noted and understood."

The femme nodded quietly and gestured for Shockwave to follow her out of the bay. "Get some recharge. The rest of your creations have been notified, and will be allowed to visit you in a few joors. We'll let you know if there's the slightest change."

Soundwave didn't bother replying as he lay back on the berth, folded his arms across his chest, and closed his optics.

* * *

The gun-former wisely muted his vocaliser as he followed Nightraider down to the staffroom, her pace almost mechanically precise and her dark faceplates frozen in an emotion he couldn't place.

Taking a seat at one of the tables, he watched as she strode over to one of the dispensing machines, punched in her ident code, filled a large cube of high-grade, turned, and moved to join him at the table, her faceplates still frozen.

"Nightraider...?"

In one smooth movement, the femme jet knocked back the entire contents of the cube and slammed it down on the table, the force of the impact causing the cube to shatter into tiny fragments that dug sharply into her hand.

Shockwave tensed imperceptibly. In his vorns of acquaintance with the jet, he had never seen her display this kind of behaviour. She was prone to throwing tantrums, or terse verbal exchanges when riled, but never this. Never silence.

Admittedly, the silence wasn't complete. There was a low rumbling sound, a churning which was starting to grow louder as the astro-seconds passed...

* * *

Nightraider only just managed to shove herself away from the table and turn around before she purged her tanks all over the floor.

As she retched, she could just about register Shockwave dropping to kneel beside her, one hand resting against her back, and his other arm wrapping around her, holding her body upright as the waves of nausea crashed through her system.

She coughed, choked, and finally spat out one last mouthful of unprocessed high-grade before she fell backwards against the purple mech, utterly spent.

Too spent to even try holding back her tears.

* * *

Shockwave didn't consider attempting to move either of them. He quietly settled himself on the floor and simply let the femme CMO curl into his arms, sobbing her fear and exhaustion out onto his shoulder.

Was the navy scientist and his sparkling worth all of this grief, all of the pain? Instead of a contented family unit, there was now a physically and emotionally drained femme, a scarred and sterile mech, five traumatised younglings, and a desperately weak sparkling who might not make it through the next cycle.

If Soundwave had simply followed his original intentions, and moulded his creations into the perfect stealth unit rather than becoming emotionally attached, all of this could have been so easily avoided.

Surely it could not be that difficult to remain emotionally detached, even from your own sparklings?

* * *

TBC


	2. Part 2

A/N: Sometime I really do have to poke my brain quite hard until I can write some decent angst. This is one of those times...

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Disclaimer: Nightraider, Dreadnought and Crossfire are mine. No touchy-touchy. Transformers are the property of TakaraTomy and Hasbro. Pillage away.

Warnings: This ain't exactly what you'd call a light fluffy-bunny of a fic; bit of angst, there is some imaginative but mostly twisted science, and Shockwave's equally twisted logic. Oh, and a small smattering of gore in later parts.

* * *

**Crossfire: Part 2**

* * *

**Cybertron, City State of Polyhex, Darkmount Fortress...**

* * *

Solar light was little more than a corrupted memory file in the CPUs of most of the Cybertronian warriors. To the Last Generation, those created after the end of the Golden Age, after Cybertron had torn itself from its orbit and began its aimless voyage through the galaxies, it was a myth; something designed to enchant, to aspire to, something to fight for. The day when their homeworld was bathed in light and life once again, that would be the day when All would became One.

Until then, they saw only the dark silence of space, punctuated with glimmers of silver and gold from the distant stars, and lit only by passing comets and meteorites burning against what remained of the metallic planets atmosphere.

The Decepticon Military Operations officer and the guardian of Cybertron, however, was not cursed by such..._Autobot-like_ sentiment.

He saw only light waves created by superheated gases burning billions of miles away; chunks of ice and rock falling through space to strike on the already heavily scarred ground.

No matter.

The essential military structures of Cybertron were still intact. Energon was being strictly rationed out of the last processing plants in Kaon and Altihex. The Decepticon forces controlled the majority of the planet, the only pockets of resistance being those remaining Autobots too foolish to see the rejuvenation and security that Lord Megatron had brought to their world, and the few pathetic camps of Neutrals who still believed in one planet, one race.

Shockwave sat back in his chair and called up the long-range scans out of desperate habit.

The sub-computer and scanner booted up, though not without a considerable delay. A mild annoyance. Chief Engineer Dreadnought would clearly need to work one of his engineering miracles on the mainframe sometime soon.

_"Define parameters of scan cycle."_

"Standard trans-orbital scan, distance 10,000 megamiles."

_"Define object of search."_

"Decepticon battle cruiser, flagship _Nemesis_."

_"Scanning..."_

The purple gun-former sat back, joints creaking from neglect, and cast his optic over the scanner.

He chose to ignore the hiss of the main door and the clicking echo of turbine heels as they travelled across the floor to stop behind his chair. There was no need to make any assumptions as to the identity of the mech.

Or femme, in this case.

* * *

"Why do you even bother with this anymore?"

Decepticon Femme CMO Nightraider sighed deeply and leaned against the side of the chair, her faceplates now constantly pulled into a downcast expression and pain ever-present in her dulled optics.

"It's been over 24,000 vorns, and you still haven't found any sign of the _Nemesis_. Even the wreckage would've turned up by now."

Shockwave half-turned so that he could stare up at the black and red tetra-jet. "Would the discovery of wreckage be preferable to you, rather than the crew's survival?"

She scowled at the purple mech. "That's not what I meant and you know it. I just want...something, anything that says categorically that they're all alive or dead."

"And if there was wreckage, rather than the ship simply being MIA?"

The femme's voice was soft, with too much hurt in it for his liking. "At least then I could grieve."

Shockwave, unwisely, opted for a rare attempt at sarcasm. "Yes, of course. Because that would be _so_ different than to what you are doing right now."

Nightraider directed her retort by way of a slap to her comrade's left antenna.

"Well, it beats the frag out of just sitting here like you, waiting for your _precious_ Lord Megatron's return!"

Rare irritation bloomed in the gun-former's processor. "Insolence will not be tolerated, least of all by _you_, Femme CMO. I have vowed to Lord Megatron that he would return to find Cybertron exactly as he left it, and that is precisely what he shall return to."

"Uh-huh. A planet torn out of its solar orbit, ruined by war with no natural resources left, no financial or civilian structures or inter-species communications still standing, and two military factions who want nothing more than to blow each other and their sainted leaders _in absentia_ out of existence? Yeah, I can see how that's going to be a nice welcome home present."

Shockwave eased himself out of his chair, and loomed over the spitting tetra-jet. "I have my orders. If you no longer feel that our cause is a worthwhile one, I believe that you will find the door to your right."

Nightraider snorted and span around. "And I think you forget I'm only here because no-one else would have me after the Academy sent me packing. The oh-so-sainted Autobots would no doubt have a few issues with accepting a medic-cum-insurrectionist into their ranks."

She stalked off towards the door in the direction of the med bay. Never one to resist clarifying a few facts, the Guardian of Cybertron watched her quietly for a few moments, and then called after her.

"I believe you left out the Neutrals?"

"...You really think I'm stupid enough to volunteer for target practice?"

"Not as such."

* * *

Since the black and red tetra-jet had vented her cyber-spleen at him, that meant she would deliberately stay out of his way for at least the next three groons.

Almost entertainingly predictable, and remarkably useful for him.

Keeping the scans running in the background, Shockwave activated a set of early warning alarms before opening a set of files hidden in the depths of his private mainframe. If the femme CMO ever discovered that he had not only failed to completely destroy these particular records, but had also retained a set for himself, having his head sliced off and served on a platter to Unicron while his chassis was thrown into the Pit would be the least of his concerns.

But the knowledge contained therein...

_Files decoded: 49 percent._

It was just too tempting. Nightraider had placed Omega-level security on these particular documents when they had been created, with the security access codes known only to herself, and later by Lord Megatron. While her paranoia over the use of these files was commendable, it was infuriating, not to mention somewhat insulting to him.

She had summoned him to aid in the surgery on Soundwave and his surprisingly resilient sparkling, had she not? She could have chosen anyone to help her in the treatment, but when it came to anything involving a matter of the spark, _her_ spark, had he not been the only one she had trusted then? She had trusted him to represent her at the farce of a hearing before the Academy council, and to remove all traces of her research from the mainframe, had she not?

And yet she refused point-blank to recreate her research, or to let him within a mega-mile of her preliminary notes on the symbiosis process.

In effect, he had reasoned to himself, she had forced him to take these measures. The safety and security of the Decepticon Empire could well be guaranteed by the information contained within those files.

Shockwave launched his personal decoding software, and sat back in his chair, carefully tenting his fingers together and resting the base of his cranium against his knuckles.

A race of sentient weapons systems, all symbiotically bonded to parent-partner units, each mutually ensuring the other's survival. Should the symbiote weapon be permanently damaged or offlined, it would be a simple process to initiate spark parthenogenesis and online a new symbiote.

Soundwave and his creations had proved that the process was feasible, and the theory workable, but for some reason he had chosen not to employ his symbiote-creations as weapons, but instead treated them as his family, and trained them as espionage agents. Even more illogical were Nightraider's actions - willingly supporting the family unit, running herself into financial ruin and near-stasis to help them and protect them from the Autobot security forces.

This was war. Families were a liability. Weapons were not. It was simple logic, and the Decepticon Communications officer had chosen to disregard it completely.

* * *

An all-nighter on the security systems probably wasn't the best way to complete his extended shift, but then, it wasn't like he'd had a choice in the matter. Alpha-level engineers were hard to come by at the best of times, but alpha-level engineers who also held the necessary creativity to rewire the security grid with a lack of parts and a lot of hope...

Dreadnought sat back on his massive haunches and yawned, stretching his bulky grey arms over his head and flexing the tired fingers backwards.

POP

-Fzzz-

The battle-cruiser blinked, and worriedly glanced at his left shoulder.

Oh Primus, not again.

He let his right arm fall to his side, and waited patiently for his left to drop down likewise.

It didn't.

He gnawed silently on his lower lip while he ran through his options. Repairs on his own structure were nearly impossible without medical support, and Nightraider was likely to kill him when she saw he'd blown yet another output sensory relay...

He offered a quiet prayer to Primus that Glit was on duty at the moment. At least the feline medic was somewhat less snarky than his larger colleagues.

"Dreadnought to med-bay."

A few short bursts of static, then the soothing tones of Secondary Medical Officer Glit purred through his comm. link. _"Report your status, Chief Engineer_."

"Um...it happened again."

He could almost hear the feline slapping a paw over his optics. _"You were stretching your arm above your cranium_."

"...Yeeeeah."

_"After Nightraider specifically told you not to, and that we're low on parts as it is?"_

"Spare me the guilt trip Glit, 'Raider'll do enough of that if she sees me like this."

In the med-bay, the SMO let out a put-upon sigh and closed his optics. "_...Report to the med-bay. But if Nightraider should find you there, you are very much on your own."_

_

* * *

_

Three breems later...

"Hey, watch where you're digging the claws!"

Glit didn't bother to glare at his patient. Dreadnought had long since become immune to most forms of implicitly suggested behaviour, unless it was Nightraider doing the glaring. At that point, he was then as silent and biddable as a new-spawned sparkling.

The silver feline crawled up the battle cruiser's frozen arm and wedged himself against the elbow plating as he activated the surgical lasers fitted to his hips. One quick level two shot should undo the jammed servos...

"YOW!"

"Oh, do kindly shut up. Now, how does that feel?"

Dreadnought wiggled his shoulder joint and sighed with relief as his arm responded and dropped to rest by his side, the SMO quickly scrambling down the plating and perching on his shoulder.

"Primus, that's better. I owe you one."

Glit elegantly bounded down from the grey mech's shoulder. "I think we're long past the point where you can ever repay me for the various rage-induced repairs I've saved you from."

The battlecruiser sighed and flexed his fingers. "Better than a guilt trip off 'Raider. She's getting worse."

"I fear there is little we can do. All of the Decepticon forces are suffering, and she is no different."

Footsteps echoed briefly in the corridors outside the repair bay before the double doors swung open, admitting the black and red tetra-jet under discussion. Barely glancing at the two occupants of the bay, she turned and strode towards her office, grabbing a stack of datapads from atop the supply cabinets.

"Your first appointment is waiting in your office."

Nightraider shot a look at the silver feline. "Would it have killed you to ask her to wait outside?"

Glit returned her look in kind. "The head of the Cobalt Sentries versus a Secondary Medical Officer? I'd rather not take those odds."

"Wimp."

She pushed the door button with her elbow and marched in, sparing a quick nod of deference to the petite blue and black frame curled up in the patients chair.

* * *

"Howlback. Is it me, or are these meetings getting just a little too regular?"

The feline enforcer gave her one of her trademark icy stares. "You were hardly my first choice for a representative of the upper echelons of the officers."

The black and red tetra-jet placed a hand theatrically over her cockpit. "And here I thought the bonds of femme solidarity would override the whole issue of me _not_ being Soundwave or Flamewar."

She managed to stop herself wincing at the thought of the Communications officer, but her spark still twisted painfully back on itself.

Howlback sniffed. "Hardly. Now, if you please?"

Nightraider sighed as she dropped into her chair, pulled the top-most datapad off of the stack and shoved it in the other femme's general direction.

"Latest reports as requested. There are a few mentions of a disturbance outside Maccadam's two orns ago. Maccadam himself doesn't want to press charges, but I don't think it'd hurt to run surveillance."

The blue and black feline growled softly. "Kindly refrain from telling me how to do my job, _CMO_."

To her credit, Nightraider refused to rise to the bait. "The energon stockpile in Iacon has noticeably decreased; no theories as to why or how."

Howlback pulled the datapad closer with a paw and briefly scanned it. "Shockwave has _no_ theories? His drones didn't pick up on the disappearances?"

"Nothing's been spotted."

The femme thought quietly for a few moments. "Consider this investigation active, and inform the Military Operations officer that I will consult my sources in Iacon. Is there anything else of note?"

Nightraider shrugged and leaned back in her chair, joints creaking. "Low on spare parts, suicidal troops, and a couple of bombing raids on the Neutral settlements. Same old, same old."

An awkward silence fell over the room as Howlback first studied the datapad before her, then the desk, and finally Nightraider's battered sedative guns. The femme CMO didn't say anything to speed the process along. She knew full well what was coming, and would have been only too happy to delay it in every briefing for the rest of her existence.

Howlback finally opened her mouth, golden optics now simultaneously fearful and hopeful.

"...The _Nemesis_?"

The tetra-jet shook her head.

"Nothing."

Howlback slumped slightly. "I had...hoped..."

"I know. Believe me, I do."

"...He cannot be dead."

Nightraider leaned forward slightly. "We have no way of knowing that for certain."

The feline femme's disappointment was slowly being replaced with her default ice-cold demeanour. "He would not break his word to me. You know him. You were present at his onlining. You have been a part of his entire life, right from the start."

"You're right. I was. And I know what Ravage felt for you. But unless Shockwave detects something..."

"...Then we both remain alone."

The silence descended once again, both femmes alone with their thoughts, and a shared pain that neither was brave enough to voice. Eventually, one would leave to root out the traitors, moles and new recruits; the other would repair, report and take inventories until the need for an energon-based distraction large enough to blot out the monotony finally overtook all rational thought.

* * *

_Files decoded: 49.001 percent._

A most profitable decryption run today. Hopefully the joors before planetary curfew would reveal a little more of his femme colleague's intriguing scientific talents.

Glancing around at the control panels and the assorted security cameras, Shockwave opted to take a calculated risk and activated the stasis chamber controls, watching silently as three of the floor panels retracted, allowing a mini-con sized stasis pod to emerge from beneath the control room floor. Fitted to his desired specifications, the pod's cover was engineered from transparent aluminium, the tiny silver and lavender form lying peacefully under the metal.

A medical computer attached to the pod displayed the protoform's vital statistics and a record of the design blueprint. Or, as much of his design blueprints as Shockwave had been able to find. Every search throughout the Cybertronian DataNet had resulted in a few rough outlines of his form, power analyses courtesy of the Autobots, and, more intriguingly, a number of restricted access messages. All attempts to break into the system had failed, even with his most powerful software. All that he could theorise was that someone or something did not wish for anyone, even himself, to be able to access his blueprints.

Picking up a laser scalpel, the purple gunformer removed the tiny frame from its chamber, settled down in his chair, and set to work on the left shoulder joint. The energon flow to the secondary pulse charger still had a tendency to block around the humeral relays, much as his own left arm had originally done. Access to upgrades and exploratory surgery by the Constructicons had eased the blockages, but the parts needed to maintain the repairs, like everything else in the stores, were in extremely short supply. The medical team had taken to requesting parts scavenged from the battlefield to ease the situation, and it was not uncommon to see shock troopers and Seekers returning to the med-bay covered in their own fluids, but proudly clutching a number of dismembered limbs from enemy troops and their own alike.

As the joors passed, he wondered idly if his own creator or creators had worked on his frame as he was doing now. Steadily, since there was no spark yet resident in the tiny chamber, but delicately, not wishing to subject the little frame to any stress whilst any imperfections were removed.

And then, what to name the tiny being, once the spark was inserted?

He knew from observation, and some of Nightraider's less drunken narratives, that most sparklings could identify themselves from the moment they were onlined, with at least a rough notion of their function. Much had been said about Soundwave's creations within the Decepticons, a great deal of it uncomplimentary, but few could deny how accurately they had named themselves.

Shockwave however bore no recollection of his naming or of his creators, and no references to them had ever been found in the archives.

A flicker on the monitor caught his attention. Hastily tucking the tiny frame back into its pod and activating the camouflage mechanism, the Military Operations officer studied the image, and felt his spark sink slightly.

The monochromatic image of Nightraider was staggering down the main corridor towards the med bay, following something approaching a straight line and clutching a bottle of Maccadam's Finest. The emergency lighting provided just enough radiance to show the tear skids on her faceplates.

Shockwave would have sighed if he could remember how. Instead, he straightened up, rotated his shoulders and strode out of the control room towards the med bay.

* * *

"...C'mon c'mon, where'sh the fraggin' blue when it'sh needed...?"

Pausing only to take a swig out of her bottle of high-grade, Nightraider drunkenly scanned the myriad of bottles and boxes in the store-room, her optics rolling as she tried to find the telltale flash of neon blue that would sober her up enough for her next shift.

She didn't recall the exact time when she had first turned to the high-grade to forget her pain, but it had been sometime around the first 10,000 vorns after the _Nemesis_ had had disappeared. She had wanted to obliterate that nagging little voice in her processor, the one saying she should have gone with them, she should've updated their tracking systems more frequently, she should've insisted that the youngest of Soundwave's creations had stayed with her, she should've told the Communications officer how she felt...

That last self-recrimination had sent her almost diving into a serving of high-grade in Maccadam's, empty cubes piling around her as the kindly old mech kept the flow of energon steady, eventually cutting her off after she had exceeded even a medic's tolerance for booze and picked a fight with one of the off-duty Autobot sentries. It had been enough for him to warrant summoning Dreadnought to escort her back to Darkmount.

The tetra-jet had woken up in Dreadnought's berth cuddled against the giant battlecruiser, her joints aching and a hangover doing its best to melt her CPU. She couldn't remember that night, not even if anything untoward had happened, and Dreadnought had been too polite to mention the event.

At the end of her next shift, she had returned to the bar, and tried to drink enough to either remember or to forget, she hadn't been entirely certain which.

To rid herself of the hangovers plaguing her system, and to sober up enough for work, she had taken to dosing herself with a minimal amount of copper sulphate, one of the stronger anti-emetics in the medical stores. A one cc dose was enough to have her on her knees retching the contents of her tanks into whatever was available, but she would be sober within a joor.

Now if she could only find the Primus-damned bottle, she'd be just dandy...

"I believe _this_ is what you are seeking?"

A chunky purple hand suddenly speared in front of her optics, the fingers loosely holding a vial of the neon blue drug.

"Gimme!"

Nightraider took a swipe at the dangling tube, and wasn't entirely surprised when the mauve fingers swiftly moved out of reach.

Turning around, she squinted at the imposing bulk of her superior officer, faceplates now contorted into a drunken snarl.

"I _shaid_, gimme!"

Shockwave's golden optic scanned her frame with no hint of apology. "I am sure you are aware that this drug, when used constantly, causes system blackouts and significant destruction of onboard RAM?"

"Don' fraggin' preach t'me Shhhockwaf. Now GIMME!"

"Not to mention affecting your fine motor functions and synaptic pathways. I am somewhat amazed that none of your patients have suffered due to your intoxication."

Nightraider was already swaying. "Be fine inna joor. Now gimme th' blue already."

"Will you return to Maccadam's at the end of your next shift?"

"Whassit t_'you_?"

"There are other, more productive, ways of spending your off-duty time which do not involve emptying a dozen cubes of matured high-grade into your systems."

She rearranged her expression into a look of self-hatred. "Y'think I _wanna_ be like thish? 'S'not bein' productive, it'sh called _copin'_. An' I'm no bettr'n no worse'n you fer that."

The expression in her optics had no obvious effect on him, but the gun-former couldn't help but see her point.

Purple fingers unwillingly relinquished their treasure.

Grabbing at the vial, Nightraider expertly transferred the required dose of copper sulphate into her sedative gun with a surprisingly steady hand.

Shockwave watched the procedure with something akin to disgust.

"Do you wish me to fetch Dreadnought or Glit?"

With an effort, the black and red tetra-jet shook her head. "Naaah. 'M just gonna shtay in t'med-bay after 'm done."

"...Contact me should you require any form of aid."

With that, he left the med-bay and returned to the control room, the sound of a small grunt of pain and then the unmistakable sound of retching echoing up the hallway.

Perhaps tomorrow would be a more profitable orn. But there was still time for one last scan...

* * *

_"Define parameters of scan cycle."_

"Standard trans-orbital scan, distance 10,000 megamiles."

_"Define object of search."_

"Decepticon battle cruiser, flagship _Nemesis_."

_"Scanning..."_

* * *

TBC


	3. Part 3

A/N: After a certain amount of browsing, I've come to the conclusion that Shockwave is a bitch to find a consistent character profile for. Hence why I'm writing him as G1 with a dose of IDW, and a sprinkling of TransAni.

* * *

Disclaimer: Nightraider, Dreadnought and Crossfire are mine. No touchy-touchy. Everything else; Marvel, TakaraTomy and Hasbro. Touchy away.

Warning: Nothing much for this chapter, but there are references to miscarriage and abortion, along with Shockwave's rather twisted ideas about science.  
Look, it's now M-rated for a _reason_, people.

_Italics_ denote telepathy/recorded speech.

* * *

**Crossfire: Part 3**

* * *

**Cybertron, City State of Polyhex, Darkmount Fortress...**

* * *

42,000 vorns.  
Perhaps an eighth of the lifetime of an average Cybertronian.  
And still there was no sign of the _Nemesis_, or of her erstwhile crew.

Although it was still early in the orn, Nightraider had long since drunk herself into an energon-induced stupor, and was currently dozing in the medbay under the unimpressed optic band of Dreadnought. Glit was out treating the wounded at one of the many torus bases around Kolkular, and would likely be absent for the next three orns.

Glancing up at the main viewscreen, Shockwave calmly noted that the starscape had dramatically changed. Where there was once the cold dark blue-black of deep space, punctuated only by the pinpricks of light that were distant stars, there were now numerous great clouds of violet-tinted dust particles, streaked with shimmers of red and blue. To the right of the screen, darker patches swirled where the dust had blocked out areas of light sent out by a small cluster of young stars.

Idly, he thought of Starscream and Jetfire, and what their probable reactions would be. The missing SIC would no doubt be regarding the nebula with an apparently jaded optic, dismissive of the sight before him but secretly desperate to escape and soar amid the dust clouds, enjoying the brief gusts of solar winds. Jetfire perhaps would be more analytical, scrupulously scanning the clouds for any pockets of helium or hydrogen that could be converted into energy surplus, but equally as desperate to play in the cold of space as his cynical companion.

* * *

The solder hissed as it melted, a shimmering drop falling from the tip of the iron and landing perfectly on the circuit board. Working quickly, Shockwave welded the microchip into the board, his hands steady as a tiny plume of smoke rose before his optic.

A terabyte of hard drive space would be adequate for the sparkling's first few stellar cycles of existence. Upgrades every vorn would then take care of the rest, perhaps with Dreadnought's assistance. The battlecruiser had a way with younglings that Shockwave had never possessed, and until now, had never required, and he was only too aware that he was hardly the most likeable Decepticon in the army.

No matter. The parenting aspect could easily fall to Nightraider and Dreadnought, if the former sobered up for longer than a joor and the latter stopped disapproving of everything the gun-former ever did. He would then be free to concentrate on the binary-bond aspect of the experiment.

The creation and conception processes both seemed straightforward enough. From the percentage of Nightraider's notes he had decoded, apparently using two separate sets of spark energy as would normally occur within a spark-bond to create offspring was out of the question; the jet, when preparing Soundwave for the parthenogenetic process, had injected his spark with a preliminary dose of spark-split reagent, then removed a tiny portion of his spark and modified the CNA to a suitable extent so that while the Cassettes would bear significant elements of their creator's personality and intelligence, the CNA between parent and sparkling would be suitably separate in order to sustain the gestational bonds during the carrying process. If not, the sparkling would either be reabsorbed into the parent due to the similarities, or terminated if there was too great a disparity between the two sparks' CNA.

While he had obviously not witnessed the CNA harvesting or the implantations, he was only too aware of how much trial and error would have gone into perfecting the process. Witnessing both Nightraider's guilt and Soundwave's nearly imperceptible grief during the first half-dozen times spark-split had been initiated and then failed, the treatments and multiple injections of reagent, and the constant observation Soundwave had subjected himself to during each carrying process had been...educational.

Modifying his own CNA enough to retain his own unique imprint and match it to that of the sparkling would be something of a challenge, but if a mouthy half-drunk femme jet could manage it, then surely it would be a minor task to a being of his intelligence.

But how to obtain said CNA...

Shockwave delicately slid the back panel of the sparkling's cranial unit closed and covered the tiny frame. His single optic focussed on his terminal and raced over his fellow scientist's angular writing until he reached the notes on the spark-split reagent.

It was critical that the compound was prepared well before the removal process. In order for the sparkling to form the correct bonds with the parent, the primary dose of reagent to the spark was required three orns before the spark energy removal, then another dose within 12 joors of implantation.

The mixture itself was simple enough. All he would need to do would be to take advantage of Nightraider's less-than-stellar guard over the medical storerooms and remove a few ingredients from his own stores. And when that was ready...

Well.

There were few things inside of his frame that could not be reached by disabling the neural relays in the necessary area. A dose of local anaesthesia, his own steady hands, a reprogrammed medical drone, and a good laser scalpel would take care of the rest.

* * *

For once, the medbay was empty of either shell-shocked troopers or half-Empty corpses waiting to have their vital circuitry and fluids removed.

Nightraider was sprawled out on the berth closest to her office, small snoring noises emerging from her vocaliser, and her fingers twitching around the neck of a bottle of Maccadam's oil-grog. Dreadnought, not happy at the idea of leaving the femme jet to her own devices, had installed himself at one of the workbenches and was making a few tweaks to his latest engineering blueprints.

"...Mmmmbrmblefrzznnn..."

Dreadnought glanced up from his datapad at the incoherent mumble from across the medbay.

"Are you alive?"

Not moving her face from where it was pressed against the oh-so-wonderfully cold berth mattress, Nightraider groaned, dropped the grog bottle and wrapped her hands around her head, pulling her legs up to her torso as she did. "Murrrrgh..."

"Okay, somewhat optimistic, but it didn't hurt to ask."

The tetra-jet felt her tanks churn and settle as she managed to sit up. "...Ohhhhhh Primus...what was I _drinking_ last night?"

"Judging by what's come out of your exhaust in the past few joors, I'm guessing plutonium coladas."

Nightraider hiccupped and her faceplates turned a distinct shade of green. "And why didn't someone stop me?"

Dreadnought looked askance. "Stop _you_ drinking yourself into oblivion? I'm good but I'm not that good."

"Well at least tell me you made a brew."

The battlecruiser pointed towards the back of the bay where an outsized beaker was sitting atop an industrial hot plate, the purple contents merrily bubbling away and returned to reading his datapad. "Help yourself. Oh, and you'll wanna look sober fast, Strika's on her way down."

"Oh fan-fragging-tastic. You couldn't've woken me earlier?"

Dreadnought, without looking up, simply gestured towards a medium sized, fist-shaped indentation on his upper left arm, a few flecks of black paint still embedded in the metal.

Nightraider glanced down at her knuckles and winced. "Ah. Sorry."

Silence fell over the bay, broken only by the black and red jet stumbling towards the tiny refectory area and chugging down half the contents of the beaker in one gulp. Her primary tanks made a noise crossed between a backfire and a gurgle as the stimulants in the brew hit her system, but fortunately the contents decided to stay put.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Nightraider leaned against the cabinets and surveyed the room, quickly noting both Glit's absence and the appearance of a giant containment chamber on the bench next to Dreadnought. Almost the same size as the battlecruiser, the front hatch hung wide open, wiring and circuit boards spread across the surface like mechanical vines. Dreadnought, secure in the knowledge that his companion was now mostly in the land of the sober, was now dividing his attention between his datapad and a side panel which he was poking at with a screwdriver.

Nightraider's optics narrowed. "Please explain why my medbay now appears to be a spare parts repository."

The battlecruiser flashed the tetra-jet a quick grin. "Spark chamber for the new super-Transformer. Thought you'd want to see it."

"Part of Shockwave's pet project? Not so much."

"Aww, c'mon 'Raider. This is easily the biggest project I've had to work on in vorns. Can't you at least pretend to be happy about it?"

The tetra-jet frowned and suppressed a belch as the energon began to fill her secondary tanks. "There is a large part of this scheme which involves Shockwave either trying to create a spark, or trying to gain access to Vector Sigma long enough for it to cough one up. Neither option really fills me with the warm fuzzies. And the possibility of Shockwave getting within a light-year of a spark or sparkling is something I've worked for a good portion of my professional life on to prevent."

Dreadnought matched his frown with hers. "You still let him help you with Ratbat's onlining."

As always, the mention of either the missing Communications officer or any of his offspring made Nightraider's spark clench. "Only because I had no other options. It was either get Shockwave to assist me, or lose all of the Cassettes and Soundwave in one go. And even then I wasn't happy about it."

She fixed him with a Look, her mouthplates pulled downwards. 'You know as well as I do that Shockwave is the last mech in the universe who should be let anywhere near a spark. He regards most of _us_ as disposable commodities; a sparkling to him would just be a liability, at worst, an experiment.'

Dreadnought sighed and stood up, his red optic band meeting his friend's still-bleary amber optics.

"...Okay, you know I like this whole idea about as much as you do. But if there's a way of getting an adult spark, one that he couldn't manipulate-"

A deep femme voice interrupted the battlecruiser's words. "To ask Shockwave not to manipulate a being for his own purposes would be antithetical to his processors."

The bulky dark red, pink and cream frame (1) of Femme Commander General Strika strode into the medbay, scarlet optics immediately settling on the slouching form of her CMO. Nightraider flipped off a quick salute and pushed herself away from the cabinets.

"It doesn't hurt to think about it, General."

The elder femme took a seat on one of the unoccupied berths, her usually stoic expression now one of rare suspicion. "The only absolute with Shockwave, as you well know, is that you never trust him. Only then will you be safe. Even Lord Megatron did not place full belief in his loyalty."

Nightraider huffed. "With respect Strika, are you here to lecture me, or here for a physical?"

"The latter, and do _not_ think your tone will go unnoticed, Femme CMO."

"Yeah yeah yeah, I've already got a datapad of reprimands as long as my arm. You're stuck with me, deal with it. Dreadnought, frag off out."

Dreadnought looked up with a mock-hurt look in his optics. "Awww."

Nightraider jerked her thumb in the general direction of the door. "Femme stuff. Out."

The battlecruiser pouted under his face mask, but did as he was told and shuffled out of the medbay with his datapad and a couple of circuit boards.

* * *

Silently noting the appearance of Strika and the departure of Dreadnought, Shockwave managed to slip into the chemical storage rooms unnoticed and quickly called up his list of ingredients.

Iron ore, magnesium sulphate, sorbitol, ammonium nitrate, somatotrophin, placental lactogen, lutropin...it intrigued him as to how Soundwave hadn't suffered more while he had carried his creations. The list of hormones alone would be enough to make any being feel nauseous.

The gun-former calmly tucked the assorted vials into his carry-case and subspaced it before casting his optic around the shelves.

He would need to synthesise a few doses of anabolic steroids before he could start creating the reagent, but that would take four joors as he most.

With his mission complete, he activated his boosters and left as quickly as stealth would allow. If his current predictions were accurate, he would be able to begin the extraction procedure within the next four orns.

* * *

Settled atop the berth with her spark chamber open, Strika ignored the sensations of discomfort and focussed on the magnifying screen the red and black jet was currently squinting at.

Nightraider's professional facade was in full force as she zoomed in on the southern hemisphere of the general's spark. "So, is the shield still working for you?"

"As much as it can, considering the parts shortage."

The tetra-jet suppressed a wince as she studied the reddish scars marring the spark in front of her. "You do know you'll have to come off it for a few cycles. It's going to interfere with your mechanical and electrical components, not to mention your spark energy if you don't."

Strika's optics narrowed. "Obsidian will not be pleased with the delay in starting a new treatment cycle."

"With respect, your bonded can suck my exhaust. Either you come off the shield and give your system a rest before you start another cycle, or you can leave it and take a risk during a spark bonding and pray to Primus you don't end up carrying again. Your system can't take another termination, so frankly, the pair of you need to keep your chambers shut and be patient."

"And that's your _professional_ medical opinion?"

Nightraider deactivated the magnifying screen and gestured for the general to close her chest plates. "Pretty much. Except with more swearing."

Strika sat up, slid off the berth and brushed a few of the more obvious dirt spots off of her torso plating. "Then so be it. I believe Obsidian will accept the uncensored version and a minor delay if it safeguards our shared health."

The tetra-jet raised her hands as if to fend off an attack. "I'll take your word for it. My knowledge of sparkbonds is purely academic."

Strika nodded abruptly, indicating the subject was no longer up for discussion. "So. Am I clear to remain on active duty?"

"Affirmative, though I would recommend a parts replacement on some of your gun turrets within the next orbital cycle. Dreadnought'll contact you once we get the parts."

The femme assault tank nodded again and marched towards the medbay doors, pausing briefly to glance back at the Femme CMO.

"I...take it you still cannot find a cure for this condition?"

Nightraider shrugged. "Super-fecundity was rare even before the war. Now it's almost unheard of. I could give you something to reduce your fertility, but I can't predict what the long-term damage would be. And when the war ends, we'll need all the sparks we can get to rebuild."

"What of reactivating the Well of All Sparks?"

"To reactivate the Well, we'd need to reactivate Vector Sigma. To reactivate Vector Sigma, we'd need either a Pit of a generator, the Key to Vector Sigma, or we'd need Alpha Trion. The first we don't have the energy for, the second went missing long ago, and to get hold of Alpha Trion would require something of a miracle considering he's just a legend."

Strika turned away. "I fear faith in the Thirteen is getting harder to come by."

The femme jet wrapped her arms around her torso, leaned against a nearby berth and stared out of the med bay window. "Hey. If they are real, all the potential followers they've got to choose from are a bunch of half-psychotic aerial troops and a decimated science core, and I'm not naive enough to think that Trion's Revelation is coming any time soon."

* * *

Strika's arrival had been pretty well timed, in Dreadnought's opinion. Now that Nightraider was up and about, it meant he could get back to his workshop and start tinkering with the manipulator digits on the new super-Transformer.

The battlecruiser let out a satisfied sigh as he entered his lab, placing the circuit boards and datapad on his workbench and turning his attention to the massive frame in the centre of the room. Pincer-like purple digits poked somewhat randomly out of black and silver cybertonium, the entire hand was over two, perhaps even three times the size of a normal Transformer – certainly large enough to adequately rival the hands of an Omega Sentinel.

But, like more than a few of the designs that had emerged from Shockwave's processor, this Transformer would be so much more than a simple guardian. The technology behind the creation of the triple-changers would be vital in both the offensive and defensive properties of this being. While it would obviously have a primary mode as a mobile battle station, Shockwave had envisioned this creature as being large enough to house a small city, or rather its secondary alt-mode, but as a triple-changer, it would be able to support a tertiary mode.

After the purple gun-former had revealed the concept designs for a beast mode, Dreadnought had actually skipped around his lab in delight.

Obviously he was limited by the raw material available like everyone was, but a combination of salvage, pillaging and melting down a few Empties when no-one was looking was yielding some pleasing results.

Dreadnought activated the portable generator and watched as electricity crackled through the various wrist motor cables. The giant hand hummed with power as he picked up his remote control board and positioned his fingers over the main switch.

"Okay, big guy, gimme five!"

He made a swipe at the oversized hand and grinned widely at the contact of metal upon metal.

"I _said_, gimme five!"

The oversized digits twitched briefly.

"Alright, fine, gimme three?"

The fingers twitched once more before the giant hand made a return swipe in Dreadnought's general direction. Sliding backwards out of harm's way, the battlecruiser smirked and made a quick note on his datapad.

"Servos and ligament connections running at 75 percent. Now..."

He fiddled quickly with a few smaller switches. The fingers closed into a fist and relaxed a few times before returning to their original position.

"Ligament memory programming active."

Dreadnought hummed and set the control system on the bench, turning his attention to his datapad.

"Three alt-modes, three programming set-ups; Pit, three fingers. There's gotta be a three or a tri somewhere in your name, huh? Don't move if you agree."

The hand remained still.

"Sweet. So...any thoughts on names? No pressure or anything, but I can't keep calling you super-Transformer or city-former since those just suck."

Dreadnought titled his head as if listening to something.

"Nah, Trio stinks."

A few more beats...

"Okay, whoa, I am _so_ not calling you Triumvirate."

Another beat...

"Triptych? Like the paintings?"

Silence.

"That's a little pretentious, don'cha think?"

No reply.

"We'll stick a 'con' on the end, how about that? Triptych-con?"

He thought for a moment, squinting at the giant hand.

"Cool, so Trypticon works as a place-holder name. We think of anything better, we can change it. Let's face it, 'snot like _you're_ going anywhere in a hurry."

* * *

The doors to the main control room were now encrypted with a Level 5 security code and a great deal of soundproofing material. While Nightraider, Obsidian and Strika all held the relevant clearance codes to bypass the encryptions, he would at least get a few breems of warning before they could enter.

It would be enough time to hide the portable lab equipment and the sparkling frame adequately. Anything left over could easily be passed off as parts for one of his, as the chief engineer and the Femme CMO had termed them, pet projects.

A freshly synthesised vial of anabolic steroids stood on the work surface next to one of Nightraider's spare sedative guns. On the tripod stand, an ominous green concoction bubbled slowly above the heat of a portable gas burner.

Shockwave calmly slid the drone's access hatch shut and turned to the service terminal, calling up the drone's input/output stats and reaction processes.

The drones only had limited intelligence, but all of them had been programmed with basic emotional recognition software and safety features. Any action which could potentially kill or cause damage to a Transformer, they were forbidden to perform; likewise, they could not allow a Transformer to come to harm through any inaction. It was also programmed to obey any orders given to it by a Transformer, except where the order would come into conflict with the former instructions. (2)

Disabling the safety features would take a few moments. Increasing the drone's neural relay sensitivity and fine manipulation servos enough for it to safely remove a portion of his spark would take longer.

Prepping the drone's core system for a defrag and programming cycle, the purple gun-former connected the necessary leads into the assorted access ports.

The screen flickered before reeling off the various stats and program lists in a derivative of Old Cybertronian – a paranoid measure, some would say, but Shockwave maintained that he had not survived the end of the Golden Age and the civil wars without a healthy dose of mistrust.

BEEP

His optic flashed. The reagent was ready.

* * *

Two physicals, a minor leg servo replacement, one case of energon poisoning and half a dozen suicidal troops.

All in all, a quiet orn.

Nightraider engaged the back-up generator and watched as the lights in the med bay dimmed to the low level emergency power setting. A few of the lesser computer terminals blipped and powered down, the main life support systems remaining on full power.

Idly, she pressed her fingers to her temples and rubbed hard, trying to dispel the ache in her CPU. A plutonium colada powered hangover was one of the fouler self-inflicted ailments to try and recover from, and there wasn't much she could do other than medicate with chilled low-grade and painkillers.

She spared a glance at the chronometer. Glit wouldn't be back from Kolkular for at least another two joors, Dreadnought was holed up in his workshop, Obsidian and Strika were both on duty, and the less she knew about Shockwave's activities, the better.

Since she couldn't get drunk, she had to find another way of passing the time.

Returning to her desk, she activated her node in the Data-Net and settled back in her chair as reams of notes and AV recordings flashed up on screen. This data wasn't strictly part of her original research, but she hadn't had the spark to remove the recordings; after the Nemesis had disappeared, the recordings had been one of the few things keeping her sane.

She called up the first recording and felt her spark twist.

* * *

Her office in the Science Academy building had been far less functional and geared more towards comfort than her current surroundings. On screen, her younger self was in that office, squinting into the camera lens and twiddling with an unseen switch. Standing behind her and to her left was Soundwave, with Ravage's black fledgling frame cuddled safely in his arms. Both mechs were watching her with amusement, Soundwave's gaze mixed with what could almost be called fondness, while the feline Cassette tilted his head curiously at the camera.

_"__Mrorwl?"_

The navy scientist gently stroked his creation's head. _"Ravage; telepathy."_

Ravage frowned in concentration and tried again. _What is she doing?_

_"__Camera; necessary apparatus. Event to record; your first unassisted steps."_

_Why?_

_"Recording event; posterity."_

_Why?_

_"__Nightraider; responsible for your onlining. Desire; for her to share in this event."_

_Why?_

Nightraider fought back a laugh at the young feline's questioning, straightened up and moved to tickle the sparkling under his chin. _"So he's learned 'why' then?"_

Soundwave let out a brief sigh. _"Affirmative."_

_"__Just wait until he learns 'shan't'."_

_"__Tempting fate; unwise."_

The navy mech knelt down and carefully set his creation on the floor next to his feet, watching closely as Ravage settled into a crouch.

_"Ravage; sit?"_

Ravage pushed up with his front legs until his head and chest were raised. His aft and back legs remained firmly on the floor.

Soundwave rested a hand against the felinoid's side in a gesture of support. _"Ravage; stand?"_

With a grunt of effort, Ravage forced his aft to rise and his back legs to straighten until he was standing on all fours, his creator's hand still resting against his side.

Nightraider watched her younger self kneel down and watched expectantly as the little mech wobbled for a moment, and then placed a tentative black and silver paw in front of him. He tested the weight, and, remembering what Soundwave had taught him, slowly brought the back paw on the same side forward one step.

That seemed to work quite well, so he tried the other side, moving the opposite front paw forward and then the back paw, just as he had done before.

A tiny frown of determination settled on his faceplates as he alternated his paws, moving slowly but steadily forward with each step. Until his back paws became tangled about halfway through and he collapsed with a yowl of shock.

Soundwave had been edging alongside his creation until the tumble. Now he reached out a hand in an attempt to comfort the little mech. _"Ravage; uninjured?"_

Ravage gently batted the proffered hand away with a wave of his claws and studied the area of floor between him and Nightraider's lap, where he knew from long experience a cuddle and an energon goodie would be waiting for him. If he could just make his feet move correctly...

The femme CMO ignored the wetness on her faceplates as she watched the felinoid regain his balance on screen with scarcely a wobble, and restart his trek towards his goal.

"_Less than a mechanometer to go, Ravage."_ Nightraider held out her arms as the black and silver Cassette began to pick up speed, his movements becoming less jerky and more graceful.

Soundwave moved quickly to kneel next to the femme jet, his optics not leaving his creation's frame for even a nanosecond.

With a triumphant meow, Ravage surged forward and landed in Nightraider's lap, a loud and contented purr emerging from his vocaliser as he was picked up and cuddled thoroughly by the femme jet, his creator leaning over his companion's shoulder and resting a proud hand on his head.

_"Unassisted walking; success. Feedback; excellent."_

The felinoid closed his optics and purred, revelling in the pride and delight radiating from the two adult sparks just inches from his own, and the simple happiness of the smaller, younger spark nestled safely within his creator's chamber.

* * *

45,000 vorns and two city states away from her old office, Nightraider shut down the recording and rested her head atop her arms on the desk, finally letting her tears fall freely.

* * *

Since there was no colour guidance he could discern from the femme jet's notes, Shockwave was uncertain of whether or not the reagent was the correct shade of...whatever colour it was meant to be.

The luminous green mixture sat in the beaker, slowly bubbling away with the consistency of organic mud. Every so often, a puff of steam would be released from one of the bubbles, the combination of water and heat being released strong enough to leave condensate dripping off his armour.

Not for the first time, the purple gun-former wondered if he was doing the right thing. If the experiment played out correctly, he would found a new form of warfare, perhaps powerful enough to lead the Decepticons to total victory over the Autobots.

If it failed...he could terminate his own spark; he could miscarry the sparkling; he could carry it to term and then die during onlining; they could avert all of those pitfalls and the sparkling could be onlined with serious defects.

Shockwave shook his blocky cranium to clear his thoughts.

He had come too far to turn back now.

He owed it to Megatron, to the Decepticon cause.

He owed it to himself, and to science.

Before he could allow any further doubts to surface, he inserted the vial of steroids into the main chamber of the sedative gun, allowing the contents to drain safely out of the tube before carefully removing the beaker of reagent and topping up the remainder of the chamber with the green fluid.

Briskly shaking the gun to mix the chemicals, Shockwave deactivated the seals on his spark chamber, and watched as the scarred purple plating twisted and retracted, allowing his purple-white spark to float freely.

He exhaled briefly, and tapped the gun chamber to remove any air bubbles.

His fingers tightened on the hand grip of the gun and aimed the instrument at his spark, the tip of the needle just brushing the surface.

Shockwave directed his gaze to the ceiling of the control room and offlined his optic in silent, ironic acknowledgement to his old mentor, now far away and long since gone.

"To Jhiaxus...I do this in your name."

He pulled the trigger.

No-one heard him _scream_.

* * *

TBC

* * *

(1) See the Transformers Wiki, 'Five Faces of Darkness Part 4'. The red, pink and cream femme in the flashback to the Quintesson-controlled Cybertron was retroactively named as Strika. Interesting that she's the colour twin of Elita One...

(2) I've tweaked the Three Laws of Robotics a bit here, but Asimov himself believed that the Three Laws helped to foster the rise of stories about lovable robots, so I'm taking that as my _carte blanche_.


End file.
